


The Ice Queen

by Savrola



Category: Fire Emblem: Soen no Kiseki/Akatsuki no Megami | Fire Emblem Path of Radiance/Radiant Dawn
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Family, Family Feels, Flashbacks, M/M, Omega Verse, Royalty
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-14
Updated: 2019-07-17
Packaged: 2020-03-04 22:14:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18821809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Savrola/pseuds/Savrola
Summary: A walk in the courtyard sparks a conversation between two people who might have spent their lives together, but instead, didn't.  Five years later Ike is still a mercenary, and Soren has become Queen of Daein.They have much to talk about.---Diverges from "The Omega Prince" co-written by myself and Kiki9627, posted on her account, a little after chapter 5.  You'll want to read that first.





	1. In a House of Black Stone

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kiki9627](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kiki9627/gifts).



> In case you need a refresher:
> 
> Canon but with three major changes:  
> 1\. Soren remained prince of Daein  
> 2\. Zelgius never met you-know-who and reluctantly remained in the Daein military, eventually to be stationed as a general guarding the royal family during peacetime.  
> 3\. It's A/B/O because I'm trash.
> 
> About 5 years ago Soren and his bodyguard Zelgius got a little too close and made a baby. Then another one. (Diverges from The Omega Prince around chapter 5 in that surprise! Turns out Zel actually did get you on the first try. Good boy, Zel.)
> 
> It's labeled underage because when Zelgius and Soren did make said baby Soren was underage and in flashbacks he will sometimes be underage.
> 
> Or in short I took the two most absolutely dedicated people in Tellius and forced them together. Branded Royal Power Couple.

_Welcome to your life There's no turning back Even while we sleep We will find you acting on your best behavior Turn your back on mother nature Everybody wants to rule the world_  


The door into the throne room creaked.

Soren swore he had told them to fix it at least a dozen times and yet he still heard it every day, all day. A small squeak was inevitably one of his little sons just barely opening it to shuffle in; they were smart enough to know that they could crawl into their mother's lap and get a kiss any time so long as they didn't disturb his work. A slow opening was low and agonizing, someone important that the guards wanted to bow down before and keep happy. That was usually one of his generals or one of the council with bad news, and his young sovereignty had seen its share of bad news.

The door flung open, barely had enough time to make a sound at all, and Soren didn't bother to look up -- fast was someone unimportant, the speed of the door opening a hint as to how long they should take disturbing the Queen of Daein. Heavy footsteps slowed halfway down the long hall as if the person was unsure of the darkness they were walking into like a fog. (Many did this, some had even asked if they were short on oil for the lights, but it was advantageous to him; keep the braziers lit on the far side only so he could see enemy, friend, whomever approaching but they had to squint to see him.)

Soren flipped to the next page in his stack of papers and sighed. "Make it quick. I have much to do today."

"How much time can you spare for an old friend?"

Soren nearly jumped, sat back in his chair. He felt the smile creeping up on his face before he really meant it to be there. "Ike," he said through a breath, and jumped to his feet. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm here as an emissary of Crimea," Ike said with a shrug; he seemed as puzzled as Soren was.

Emissary. Emissaries only came to him with pretty words and sly questions, wanting money and aid and all sorts of things he could not provide -- had Ike really changed that much in a few years? As always the Queen masked his curiosity, confusion, in calm. Like the surface of a pond. "I never took you for someone interested in politics."

Ike cracked a smile, "Oh believe me, I'm not. I'm still a mercenary, probably always will be. I think they just chose me because someone said I've spent some time in the palace before."

"Did you tell them it was only as a breeding stud?" The Queen tried not to laugh.

They might never have consummated anything but Ike, for all the growth he'd worked so hard for, still felt every bit the awkward teenager in the presence of Soren. The thirty some-odd letters they'd exchanged in five years probably wouldn't ever change that. "No, I -- never managed to mention that to Queen Elincia."

A rock landed in the pond. Soren frowned. "Ah, yes. She is Queen now, isn't she? After her parents…"

"Yeah, that's why she hired us in the first place. She thought she might be the next target for assassination."

There was a pause. "Assassination? I was told their carriage lost control and careened off a cliff."

"Yeah, but we found out later the carriage was rigged to lose two of its wheels." Ike leaned against the wall and stretched his arms out to his sides with a yawn. "No idea who did it though. Everyone thinks it was probably the same people who killed your father -- trying to start unrest among the nations or something."

Soren tried not to scoff. "That is doubtful."

"Why? Three monarchs dead in four years, and now we aren't even sure if Lord Renning's death was truly from spotted fever."

Soren considered this for a moment, slipped the great grand robe off his shoulders to leave only a black tunic on underneath. "Come walk with me."

The side door did not creak, at least, and so there was no warning at all for the two unsuspecting guards who looked nearly asleep when Soren tiptoed to their sides and whispered "Boo."

They jumped to attention and saluted so hard they probably hurt their hands on their helmets. Ike snickered at the ringing thud that came after; the Queen, too, had a hard time not smiling.

"Pay attention when I'm in there, boys. Let's not have a repeat from a few years ago."

"Yes, your majesty."

The mood suddenly became somber as Soren crossed the courtyard and Ike followed, fingering the letter bearing the seal of the Crimean royal family on it that hung heavy in his pocket.

Maybe that was why the guards at the palace gates were so cautious, checking and double-checking his paperwork. Maybe that was why everyone in the palace aside from Soren himself seemed ready to jump him any moment -- he was a stranger in the palace strutting around with a sword, after all.

The walked past flower beds that still burst with color in spite of the dusting of snow. The fountains somehow continued bubbling forth without concern for turning to ice. Soren walked past them, unimpressed as he always seemed to be.

"You know, Soren."

"Mm?"

"You never even told me about the assassination attempt. I heard about it from some noble we were working for at the time."

Soren looked over his shoulder with a sour smile. "You sound offended."

"I know all about your sons, and your peach trees, and the expansion to your library. Why wouldn't you mention that?"

"What is there to say? There was an attempt on my life. You risk your life nearly every day."

"Yeah, but that's… planned. Routine. I can sleep at night. I can go to the market and not worried I'll get jumped." Soren pursed his lips at this. "Why would someone even attack you?"

"An omega leader is an affront to the Goddess," The Queen stopped and looked out over the snow, back to the oasis he'd built in the courtyard; the rows of fruit trees that bore every Summer, the bright blossoms that would pop up out of even the deepest snow to catch rays of sunshine. "Or so some zealots say."

\--

His eldest son had been just a newborn -- barely old enough to hold up his own head. Soren remembered how incredibly difficult it was to leave him in the care of someone else even for a week, only to make a diplomatic trip to the far reaches of the kingdom.

They'd been paraded around supposedly for the benefit of the people; on the way to a conference with the local governor he and Zelgius rode horseback through the streets, cheered and booed in equal measure.

(It wasn't until he'd taken the throne and Zelgius, by his own insistence, was made prince consort, that Soren realized Daein had never had a Queen who wasn't also submissive to a King.

The people had realized it however. And they weren't all pleased.)  
_  
Acknowledge your nature._

_Long live the Queen!_

_You'll ruin us all._  
  
It was all a raging cacophony of nonsense. 

Silence inside. Stare dead ahead. Watch the backs of the marching soldiers at the head of their string of diplomats and try not to look at anyone's face.

Perhaps that was his mistake.

Before he could realize that the things on him, grabbing him, were hands, he was tumbling to the ground, on his back, the wind knocked out of his lungs.

Later he was told that the would-be assassin had leapt on him so quickly he startled his horse, who then reared and sent the two of them clinging to each other off her back.

Hands around his neck. Soren knew his spells by heart, felt his hand on thick leather in his coat but. If he could not speak, the spirits could not hear him. They would not come. He clawed at those arms for what felt like minutes -- what's happening _why_ \-- he thought of his son's face, round, sweet green eyes, the perfect image of his father --

His attacker flew and rolled on his side when a kick to the gut hit him hard enough to make a sound. Zelgius, in all his heavy armor, was on the would-be assassin like a cat on a mouse.

Soren lay dazed in the street, still gasping and welcoming no air into his lungs. 

In spite of it all and his guards' best efforts, people flooded into the street. Unfamiliar, teary-eyed faces surrounded him, grasped him, asked --

"Your majesty, are you alright?"

"Can you breathe well?"

"Here, have some water."

Soren let out an aching gasp, watched his breath float away in the cold northern air as proof that he was alive. Somehow. Slowly he sat up, let his head turn to the side to see the two --

The omega who was his attacker couldn't have been older than twenty-five. The only weapon he'd even raised against the Queen, his hands, he again held up with open palms as his only defense; he seemed less sure of his attack once Zelgius was upon him.

And the noble, gentle alpha that had been nervous to hold his own child ("He's so _small_ ,") was gone -- the alpha that stood there was not a soldier but a beast, all composure lost, all control abandoned for pure fury in his eyes and bared teeth. "You should not have done that."

"He is the one who defies the Goddess' design! I - I was trying to --"

" _You,_ who would try to leave my son motherless without a second thought, you have the gall to speak to me of the Goddess?"

"It's unnatural --"

"I will make you beg for death, you _fool._ "

"Zelgius."

A pause. Green eyes turning to look at him, and instantly becoming soft. The guards, previously too terrified to step between the General and his prey, finally closed in on the assassin once Zelgius abandoned him to rush to Soren's side.

"Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine."

"I'll order for a healer."

"I'm _fine_." Hearing the dry rasp in his voice Soren rubbed a hand over his throat and grimaced. "I may just have to speak softly for a few days."

An omega woman from the crowd pat his back. "I have just the thing for a sore throat your majesty, let me get it for you." 

Zelgius had never held him that tightly before, or since. Soren realized then that he'd never seen his hands shake like they were.

"General," A guard appeared in the corner of his consciousness, and after a moment Zelgius lifted his head.

"Yes."

"What should we do with the prisoner?"

"Kill him."

Soren shifted in place until his mate finally released his grip on him and allowed him to shakily get to his feet. "No. Let him stand trial."

Zelgius stood as well wearing an expression of pure bewilderment.

"We are no longer a nation of barbarians where prisoners are killed without reason. He'll stand trial." The guard bowed out.

The omega woman from before had reappeared with her poultice in hand and stared at the Queen frozen and wide-eyed as she handed it to him.

\--

Zelgius had never been a clingy mate, but by the end of that week Soren wondered if he'd have to swat him away like a fly to get a moment's peace. They only retired to bed after Soren had to be observed undressing, getting into his nightclothes, combing his hair, brushing his teeth --

"You may relax your hold on me at any time."

"... Is it too tight?"

"Yes."

"Ah. I apologize." Supposedly he'd eased his grip, but Soren couldn't tell at all.

He opened his mouth, thought better -- then finally changed his mind back once more. "I was too soft on that omega."

"You are not your father -- kindness is within you. That isn't a bad thing."

"Many called him a Mad King, but now they all seem to wish him back."

"They are only uncertain about change." A squeeze, "Now go to sleep. I get the feeling Caspian is so grateful for our return he'll allow us a full night's rest."

\--

The next morning saw him running uncharacteristically late to a meeting with the council -- specifically because Caspian had failed to wake him up overnight as per usual. This left the baby strangely fussy by the time morning came, and with Zelgius already departed to the barracks Soren made the swift decision to slide the little one into a sling and take him along to the meeting.

He had his hand on the door when he gave pause to the voices on the far side --

_Omegas are natural nurturers, not killers, of course he wants to spare the man._

_It isn't his fault, simply his nature. They're submissive creatures._

_For shame. Perhaps in a few years when the young prince is older we can..._

This door creaked too -- just enough, loud and deep, to announce his arrival like an entire band of army trumpets.

The table of alphas, all ancient remnants of a time before his father's rule dictated might over blood, suddenly seemed all smiles and cheer.

Soren inhaled -- the depth of whatever words he might say were dampened by Caspian's gurgling. "Whichever of you who are so desperate to think treasonous thoughts and speak treasonous words in my palace may rejoin my late father in the ground. I can send you there myself, if need be."

"Treason? Why, don't be ridiculous, your majesty --"

"I've heard it for myself, Count Seldica. Do you wish my father was here in my stead? The Mad King himself?"

"Th-there are many reasons he was called that, none of them --"

"There was but one. He was mad." Soren strode for the far end of the table, grateful for his son's newfound quiet, and took his seat. "So I suppose I'm going to be forced to make a statement and have this prisoner executed publicly in Nevassa. Or am I too submissive to make these decisions by myself?"


	2. The Red Brand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes I understand I'm not that good at writing Sephiran. You can probably tell I've been reading a lot of noahfronsenburg's work lately though -- if you want your heart to break but like, in a good way, read their stuff. It's all incredible.
> 
> That chill up your spine is the ghost of what might have been in another lifetime, Zelgius. At least in this timeline your mate probably won't try to destroy the world?
> 
> I mean, probably...

_I dare you to move_  
Like today never happened before  
Welcome to the fallout  
Welcome to resistance  
The tension is here  
Between who you are and who you could be  
Between how it is and how it should be 

The life of a queen was one wrapped in a cloak of secrets and lies. Soren had no choice but to wear it; the Begnion Senate loomed in the distance like the great giants of legend, haunted his dreams like so many hideous ghosts. He'd heard whispers, reports on paper that was to be burned after reading that a group in the mountains to the north was gathering and rising to threaten his life and return an alpha to the throne.

He slept with a tome under his pillow; Zelgius never wrapped both arms around him any more so that one hand might always stay rested on the hilt of his sword.

Soren was _exhausted_ \-- finally, in the cover of trees that stood where sprawling royal gardens once had been, in the edge of the inner courtyard, something told him it was safe to let that cloak fall and lean against a tree. He watched his breath float away in crisp winter air to the backdrop of black branches and relished the silence, perfect, without need to be filled.

Aside from Ike and Zelgius, were there any people he could sit with in silence? Perhaps the children -- but then they were rarely silent.

"You look tired," Ike offered. "Do you want to go inside?"

"Mm, no," Soren said; Ike noticed that he hadn't hesitated for an instant, "For once I'd like some peace."

"I guess I was wrong when I said your life was easy, huh?"

This, Soren did contemplate. The leaves of the trees above him offered no eloquent answer, nothing more astute than what came to mind, but then Ike wasn't one who demanded polite or clever answers. Ike only wanted honesty.

The Queen smiled. "Life as a prince might have been easy," he shifted his weight from one foot to another, felt soft snow crunch under his boot, "But life as a queen isn't, no."

"Well regardless, you haven't aged a day in five years." Ike followed his host and leaned against a tree opposite, crossed his arms in the chill. A moment of thought later he touched a finger to his own forehead, "Or is it…?"

"Yes. The brand."

"How long do you guys live?"

Ah -- Ike would never survive polite society but Soren relished him like fresh air in a smoke-filled room, "There's no telling, no one else knows of a Branded born of a dragon. It could be two hundred years, or more."

"Two hundred --" Ike stopped himself, composed. "So you'll… outlive him, then."

"And you, and nearly everyone else in the castle," Soren nodded. "Unless one of these assassins manages to do their job before then."

Ike stared him down with pain in his eyes -- felt hurt for the Queen that he never would allow himself to feel, that he tried to shed like dirty clothes. 

Even if Soren had run away with him all those years ago he might have never gotten used to that look, the one that went right through his ribcage and saw his heart for what it was -- in all its cold ugliness. The Queen smiled only with his eyes. "Do not worry for me, Ike. I'll be alright."

"Does it give you much trouble?"

"No," a leaf twirled out of the swaying tree branches and landed in his hair, delicately Soren removed it. "Most people here have no idea. They assume I'm a spirit charmer, if they see it at all -- just as well. They'd probably be more comfortable believing their Queen has no soul."

"It isn't right, the way your people get treated."

"They're hardly _my_ people, Ike. I barely knew the prejudice existed at all for much of my life." Such was the privilege of his birth -- a shock though it had been to learn the truth.

"So, someone must have said something to you?"

"Yes. But he was out of his mind and his tongue was loosened -- that was the only reason."

\--

It was a tradition so deeply held, so sacred, it was unquestionable -- the prince's heat approached, every alpha in the castle had no choice but to notice, and as subtle as he could manage to be Zelgius would steal away to Soren's quarters and hand him a dirty undershirt (and it was only Zelgius because the king had ordered it done to reduce the madness in the castle _somewhat_ , Petrine had flat out run away and when Bryce's name was brought up Soren had nearly vomited).

Soren, dignity intact, would mutter a few words of gratitude and turn the page of his book, wait until loud armored footsteps had faded, and then slip it over himself. Large as it was, it was a comfort to him even in the few days approaching his time.

What wasn't traditional, however, was the delay of the Summer's Arrival Gala.

A stuffy Begnion affair, his father liked to proudly proclaim he'd never had to attend one -- in the days before Soren's birth and then in his childhood he could always come up with a lie or an excuse to fool the riff raff. Now that he was older? Soren had to attend. A repeated refusal was simply an insult, one that they couldn't afford to make with the empire next door, and they would happily accept a prince instead of a king.

The previous two years it had been timed perfectly. He would travel out a few days before, spend the day in his nice robes smiling at the hoard of nobles, then make it back in time for the security of his room and his heat to take him.

Except, it had been pushed back. Empress Sanaki had become terribly ill a while back and the entire affair's timeline had suffered for it -- he would likely hit his heat on the carriage ride home, or else his body might put it off due to the stress and he'd spend a week miserable and cramping. Neither sounded like an appealing option.

And yet for all his trouble and all his planning, all the time getting dressed and spending half a day navigating the Cathedral to get where he was supposed to be, he'd forgotten something crucial.

He'd forgotten the shirt.

"I'll simply tell everyone you're ill," Zelgius murmured into the dark -- he could hardly see the prince's face at all except for the way his eyes caught the little bit of light cast off from the braziers. A long queue of nobles stood ahead of them, each politely listening to the announcers and waiting their own turn to be presented to the crowd.

Soren, last in line, huffed, "We did that last month. We can't afford another insult."

"I can go undress and give you this shirt."

"That would take too long."

Zelgius stood so close Soren felt the warmth coming off of his arms, a cold shiver down his spine and down below --

"At least let me scent you. You'll be mobbed."

The prince simply lifted his head, another flash of light flickering behind red eyes, and though Zelgius couldn't see his mouth he could see that wicked smile in those eyes -- nothing good happened after Soren smiled like that.

The lights of the grand gala rushed in as another noble shuffled forward to the tune of a long string of names and titles -- they were close enough that they got a glimpse of each other, for only a moment. Soren reached a hand up his oversized robe sleeve and produced a tome no larger than his palm, certainly with only a couple of spells in it; light shone off the letters on the front: _Elwind_ , for only a moment before the doors shut once more. "I can handle myself. So don't worry."

"You can't bring weapons to a party --" Zelgius hissed, and then the grand ballroom doors eased open and light flooded the hallway.

"His Royal Highness, Omega Prince Soren Fortis Cardi Fidel of Daein."

His shoes clicked on the floor -- he stood alone at the head of the banister and like clockwork all those heads ceased their conversations and swung up to look at him.

Time stopped. His stomach felt like ice. And it was too late to steal away to some back room.

The vultures saw him for what he was, what his father had made him: a one-way ticket to the throne of Daein. Ashnard was anything but xenophobic -- in fact he welcomed alphas of any nationality into his borders and his government so long as they were strong and suited his purposes.

Ashnard had also been arranging meetings with potential suitors since Soren's first heat had come knocking at 12 years old; many of his rejections stood in the crowd as well. They eyed him like they might eat him alive.

He faltered at the top of the staircase, went to take a step backwards and felt a hand against the small of his back.

"It's alright," Zelgius said in his ear, "I'm here."

That little moment of quiet in a crowd urged the prince forward and down the flight of stairs, his bodyguard close enough behind that he could hear every shift and clink of the metal on his armor.

Almost instantaneously Soren wished he could borrow some of that armor and hold it up as a mighty black shield.

In a whirlwind of faces, scents, all manner of alphas approached him, ignoring Zelgius' death stare as well as their manners to grab Soren's hand, plant a kiss on it, introduce themselves with every title they'd ever had --

One of them had placed eighth in a minor jousting tournament three years ago; Soren rolled his eyes and moved on.

Clinging together they hurried through the crowd until they reached a far table -- Soren figured they could plant themselves there and wait out the storm, but then -- Zelgius was right. He would be mobbed.

"How long until it's over," the prince sighed.

"The gala will close at 8 this evening."

"It's _noon._ "

"... Yes, I'm afraid so."

"Begnion should have just been named 'Altina's Mistake'," the prince found the refreshments table and looked desperately around for the wine. "That much is certain."

"They don't know the virtue of brevity, do they?" Said through a glaring look over the top of Soren's head, his eyes alone sent an approaching alpha on the retreat.

A cramp in Soren's belly ate at him, ground his teeth and bowed his head for him. There was too much, too many alphas all around, closing in, a pack of hungry smiling hyenas -- their scents all fell upon him like a wave of too-hot water, made him shudder. It didn't take long for him to give in.

"Go. Go change and we'll meet somewhere," He groaned, "In the meantime I'll find myself some wine."

Zelgius didn't bother hesitating until he had already begun towards the door; he stopped, came back and put his hand on his prince's back. "Will you be alright without me here?"

"I'll be fine so long as you get me that shirt and get these stinking alphas away from me."

"Alright. But don't use your tome." Zelgius pointed a finger at him as if he was a stubborn child; Soren frowned back. "Your father will be very cross."

"I'll be sure not to use it on anyone from Daein."

"Just make for the east hall in ten minutes." Unable to stay any longer Zelgius pulled himself away and made for the door.

Soren, all alone, hunched up his shoulders and pulled his robe tight around himself; his only defense against the gang of roving nobles that had suddenly turned feral at the sight of him.

It wasn't enough.

"Has anyone ever told you that your brand matches your eyes?"

The prince looked up, eyes narrowed. An alpha, Crimean by his attire and the flag pin on his lapel, was standing awfully close. Soren nearly turned his back to him, took a half step away and shed every polite pretense Bryce and all his teachers had spent 15 years drilling into him. "No."

"I think it's beautiful," The alpha continued. "Though many don't. You're quite fortunate those fools in Daein don't have the good sense to see you for what you are."

"Lady Almedha spent time at court during her stay in the castle," Soren glanced out over the top of the crowd, hoping by some miracle to see black armor rushing towards him. There was none. "Anyone with a brain could put two and two together."

"You wouldn't know, for you were unborn, but," the alpha sighed his sympathy, stepped forward and leaned in as if he had a secret to whisper. "Your mother did much to present herself as a beorc, young prince. In Daein, no one dared mention anything to your father."

"Of course not."

"Outside of Daein, we see much more of your kind, however."

Another step forward, the alpha reached out his hand to grasp Soren's -- the prince tore it away as if he had been burned. "Oh, the things they must say to you. You poor thing."

"No one ever says anything about it,"

"Perhaps not to your face," the alpha said with a smile, "But there are only few things to say about anyone like you."

Soren's back hit the cold stone wall behind him, even through his robes he felt the chill close in around him --

He quite nearly bared his teeth. "Get lost."

There was a hand pressed against the wall to the left of his head, an arm extended -- it occurred to him that the alpha in question was nearly Zelgius's size. He towered over Soren's head -- again he looked to the crowd for help, attention, if anyone had noticed surely they would have said something.

But no one had.

"I don't think you understand what I'm telling you, so I'll say it slowly, Prince of Daein." The beorc inhaled, suddenly Soren felt filthy, exposed, like covering himself and bolting, "No one else will mate with a half-breed like you. You walk around with your nose in the air as if you're too good for any of us yet you should beg someone to mate you. I'm offering that," the alpha snorted, "And I'll only make you beg a little."

"I'd rather die alone,"

He laughed, "And you might -- you'd deserve it."

Soren reached his hand into the draping sleeve of his robe, ran his fingers over leather tightly bound, spat words in ancient tongue back at the looming bastard:

_Wind lend me your strength, grant me distance from those who may harm me._

Soren had only meant to put distance between them, as he'd told the spirits. Instead the Crimean went flying out the window, and Soren simply stared at the rosebushes, at the shattered colored panes, and swallowed.

For the second time in twenty minutes all eyes were on him -- though it was only for a moment before panic set in and the people began to scatter, clinging to one another like mice on a sinking ship.

Out of the chaos erupted Zelgius, seeming just as panicked as the nobles, grabbed Soren by the arm and just as swiftly as he appeared dragged them both out of a side door and down the long hallway.

The hallways were barely lit compared to the ballroom, and they were positively empty -- easy to hide in. Zelgius pulled the prince off to a dark corner and released him with a huff.

"I warned you not to bring any weapons. The king is going to have my hide for this -- and yours too, for that matter." Soren only looked up at him, arms crossed tight over his chest. One deep breath later, and Zelgius thumbed the hilt of his sword. "What happened?"

"Am I filthy?"

"What? No, you've had a bath this morning, remember?"

"I mean -- my brand."

Zelgius froze, a frown stuck on his face as if it might stay there forever; he chose his words carefully. Gently. "What about it?"

"That alpha, he called me filthy. He said no one would ever mate a half-breed."

"The one you threw out a window?"

"... Yes."

The brazier behind Soren's head crackled slightly, sounding like the little chuckle Zelgius allowed himself -- the light coming off of it illuminated the mirth in green eyes. "I'd say I'll kill him, but you might have already done that for me, your highness."

"You'd kill him? For that?"

"For hurting you like this? For calling my prince filthy? I'd be honored."

Soren simply hummed in response, twirled one finger in his hair and watched the floor.

Zelgius wasn't a man of many words, and there were so many in the modern tongue, and only a few would banish the tears from the omega's eyes.

"The brand doesn't matter," he said, hushed, and wished he believed it for himself, "Certainly some people out there suffer for it but you are no villager, no street urchin. You are a prince of Daein, and anyone who speaks to you that way will be found by my blade soon enough." Zelgius glanced back towards the grand doors, where the yelling had abated into dull speech and the clacking of expensive heels. "He desired you. That's why he spoke to you that way."

Soren nodded; as he did another wave hit him, heady and warning, and he wrapped his arms around his stomach rather than his chest. The mix of pain and spasms filled him with electricity and he inhaled sharply.

"Let us go apologize to the host, and I'll have you on the carriage out of here in an hour." Zelgius murmured. The prince looked up -- and for all his bravery, all the gall that was required to throw a man out a window at an empirical ball and sneer at his corpse on the way out, he seemed suddenly so small and tender. Being an alpha the knight had never had a heat, but he did not envy the omegas who had them. It seemed like torture. Slowly Zelgius kneeled, for once his head lower than Soren's -- "Come here."

Soren hit him so hard he nearly fell over, wrapped him up in a hug and didn't even care he could barely feel his warmth through his armor. "Thank you."

Zelgius breathed in and shuddered, loathed himself just a little for it -- "Let's get you out of here."

"Alright, but if he's alive I'm going to throw him out of the window again."

\-- 

They reentered the ballroom with their minds unified: find the apostle, beg for forgiveness, get out as quickly as possible.

Rather than the apostle, Prime Minister Sephiran was waiting for them in the hall by the doorway, ever the calm but imposing presence -- like a dark storm in the distance. Zelgius fell to his knees as if he'd been struck. Soren, who had been trailing the alpha, simply froze where he was, body stiff.

Sephiran smiled with his eyes. "That was quite some trouble you caused, young prince."

"Please excuse my charge," Zelgius coughed as the words sluggishly formed in his mind, not wanting to mobilize, "The alpha approached him with malicious intent. He was only defending himself."

"Oh, I know what happened," Sephiran waved his hand, dismissed his anxiety like a fly, "The apostle saw it all. She has retired to her room for the evening on account of her health, but she did ask me to pass along the invitation to the Autumn's Arrival Gala as well, young prince."

"There's one for Autumn now, too?" Soren sighed.

It sounded melodic when Sephiran laughed, almost like birdsong -- a chill ran down Zelgius' spine. Sephiran nodded. "I'm afraid so. She says you were 'hilarious' and she'd be happy to host you again any time."

"Wait." Soren clenched his fist in his robes. "If she saw everything why didn't she intervene? Why didn't she say something?"

"When you are Queen of Daein perhaps you'll understand. Sometimes as a ruler, one must wait for the proper time to make your move -- though you will often receive criticism for it." Soren simply stared back at him with wide eyes -- the prime minister laughed again. "You were not the only one in the room with a tome on your person, young prince."

Quiet. His words echoed against the stone hall forever. Soren found no words and simply nodded instead. "If that answer is acceptable," Sephiran bowed and turned to the ballroom again, "I will take my leave."

Sephiran was like some strange angel, terrifying but serene -- he himself seemed so calm and Soren thought to himself on the outside he too must have seemed the same, but inside he quaked. It wasn't the heat. There was something strange going on. Those eyes were deep, endless, and they stared right at him. Then up. At his mark. A pause.

"And by the way, you've nothing to be ashamed of, child. All that should occur to you when you consider your heritage is who your parents are as people. Not beorc or laguz."

Zelgius stayed where he was until the door was closed, and even then stayed staring at the floor like he'd seen a ghost. Soren watched the lines of darkness in the light that seeped out from beneath the doors and exhaled. "He's -- a little odd, isn't he?"

"Yes," Zelgius breathed.


	3. Blue, Blue Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not a lot of romantic stories began with 'so it started as a booty call' and yet here we are.

_When I feel down, I want you above me_  
I search myself, I want you to find me  
I forget myself, I want you to remind me  
I don't want anybody else  
When I think about you, I touch myself 

"I really thought you'd come with me," Ike said once the wind had faded and the silence had invaded their eardrums and begun to ring.

The Queen looked heavenward and sighed, as if again denying a child's pleading for candy. "And ask you to raise a baby that wasn't yours?"

"Sure," Ike shrugged. "It's way better than being mated to someone you don't love."

"Princes never grow up expecting to mate for love," Soren pulled a strand of hair from the rest and twirled it around his finger idly, dragged a fingernail down the silk strands. "But in truth, I've been very lucky to have Zelgius. He's a good father, and I do love him."

"You're sure?" There was almost an offer there, that same reckless teenager in Ike offering to sweep the Queen off his feet and whisk him away to some paradise, cause an international incident to take him back to a mercenary fort in Crimea.

"Don't flatter yourself, Ike. There was something there before you ever arrived, and after you left it simply blossomed."

Ike was staring him down again, eyes hard set. _thought you loved me_ \-- a 5 year old grudge still lived on, if only barely.

Soren smiled, insistent. "I tend to fancy tall, blue-haired commoners, it seems."

That sent him for a loop. "Commoner? _That_  
guy?" Ike questioned what few memories he had of meeting the general, tall, quiet, firm every time he spoke and always using big words when he knew Ike could hear.

"Yes, very much so," Soren nodded. "He's done well to learn how to speak nobly, but he is common-born, all the same."

"You guys really are backwards," Ike crossed his arms. "If Elincia mated a commoner, there'd be riots."

"In Crimea, I doubt a commoner would be allowed to serve as a general to begin with. My father's policies changed that, and I suppose this was a ripple effect as well."

The wind, broken by the trees, whipped around them. Ike exhaled. "He really is good to you, then?"

"Yes, Ike. He really is."

\--

It started with breakfast in bed.

Since he was young Soren had always had the ability to receive such things if he only asked -- but he'd never asked. He never needed such frivolous favors and besides, any crumbs he managed to drop landed in his sheets and bothered him the following night. He'd heard it called romantic before; truly it was only impractical.

The morning light caught his eye and prompted a groan and another blanket pulled over his shoulders. The prince dared to dream that he could sleep in for another hour, until he heard footsteps through his window, and then the door slowly opening.

"Bryce, I'm sleeping in. Go away."

"I'm only bringing your breakfast, your highness."

Soren allowed his eyes to peer over the top of the covers, skeptical and narrow. Zelgius stepped inside, softening his clinking steps as much as he could manage, and set a silver tray at the foot of the bed.

"Have you been demoted to maid?" Soren said dryly.

"No," Methodically, as if he might have been trained as a server, he sprinkled a dash of sugar into steaming hot tea -- the smell of bergamot and warm honey beckoned Soren out of his covers and to sit cross-legged on top of them instead. Zelgius poured a thick stream of cold cream into the cup and stirred it delicately, never once tapping the sides. "This is still how you prefer it, isn't it?"

Soren clasped the warm cup between his palms and gave a satisfied shudder while the heat spread over his body like a blanket. "Yes."

"Then I'll take my leave." 

Soren opened his mouth to speak, but the words halted at the back of his tongue, held heavy in his throat.

He wanted to invite him to stay. Surely he could share the abundance of meat and fruit in front of him, and the bread was far too big for him to eat alone --

But Zelgius didn't want to, otherwise he would have asked. Soren furrowed his brow, watched the knight straighten an armguard; did he even want Zelgius to stay? He was an honorable alpha, he would be a mate in little more than name if he was told to (and the king had spoken in no uncertain terms that they were to be mated). But an unwilling husband was just a sad, pathetic thing. And a prince who forced him to be such a thing was a shame too, wasteful for taking him from some omega out there who could be a proper partner.

He watched the door shut and sighed, "You fool." Who he was addressing, he wasn't sure.

\--

Neither he nor Ike were particularly good at old-fashioned goodbyes. ("Something I'll have to get better at," Soren muttered through pursed lips, "In your line of work I believe you'll savor more goodbyes than you'll regret," Bryce replied.)

So instead they had had one long spar before the Crimean left for home with a pack stuffed full of blankets, a tent, extra gold, warm clothes for the harsh Daein climate --

And a thick stack of blank papers. ("Don't you dare forget to write," Soren whispered in his ear, and Ike had laughed)

There was no 'going easy' on someone in Castle Daein: this, Ike had learned. Even if he tried to cite Soren's pregnant state as an excuse he'd be flung out of the ring and into a pile of horse manure if he tried to let the omega catch a break. So their spar had lasted an hour, and he'd slammed Soren into a wall, let him tumble and hit his side. A few guards were ready to attack him on behalf of their prince; Zelgius was gone until late that evening, otherwise Soren might have worried for Ike's safety -- rather, the king was impressed and offered him a position in the military as a lieutenant. 

Ike declined and left that evening.

The next morning Soren was already upright in bed and wincing with a hand on his shoulder when Zelgius appeared, completely forgoing a knock.

"That boy should thank the Goddess he had the sense to leave when he did," Zelgius rushed to the bedside, "I'd have his head if I had been here."

 _Probably for more reasons than one,_ Soren thought but didn't say. "It's nothing, really."

"Is the baby alright?"

Soren huffed. "It isn't big enough to be moving yet, Zelgius. All I have to go on to know it even exists is the cleric's word."

Finally Zelgius breathed. Even for just a moment. He took a square of cloth off of the tray he'd brought and wrapped ice up in it. "Here. Put this on your shoulder."

Soren nodded as a thank you and held the ball of ice up to his skin, hissed when it made contact and the ice stung before it relieved. Zelgius held his eyes low, pondering the flatness of the prince's belly, how the little goosebumps raised against the cold of the ice and the morning air. He rested his hand atop the covers, the tips of his fingers dangerously close to Soren's. Soren felt the electricity between the two, wondered what could happen if the alpha just slid his hand a little closer and made contact.

That time the prince gathered up the courage to speak, if only once. "You could stay in here. With me."

"No, I'm afraid I have to go address some new recruits for the palace guard," and like that he'd slipped a tin of ointment into Soren's hand and hit his feet, a little too quickly. "When you're done, put that on it. It will help the pain."

The door shut, and the prince let his fingertips trace the dips and mountains in the ointment. It was grittier than he imagined it would be, and difficult to get a grip on. Once it clung to his fingers it made them warm and tingly.

Again Soren stared down the door. He flung the tin against the stone wall and lay back down in bed for one more hour of turbulent sleep.

That entire day, he didn't see a glimpse of Zelgius. The scent of the ointment clung to him, even as he lay in bed.

\--

Phantom fingers ran along his body, touched his nipples, paused at the small of his back. Heat. Everywhere, engulfing, sinking into him through his pores until all he could breathe in or out was warmth and sweat and _him._

Every fiber of Soren's being had been dedicated to forgetting that night since it happened. He'd pinched himself when the thought crossed his mind, beat his head against a wall, swore to himself it wasn't real but then the dreams came and sent him reeling and panting in the night.

Because the fact was he _couldn't_ forget. It _did_ happen. He did seduce his bodyguard, the most upstanding, honor-bound alpha in Tellius with sweet words and spread legs, welcomed him into his bed like a whore. He'd begged, ordered to be fucked, and he'd gotten what he'd asked for -- what he'd wanted since his first heat taught him what it was to want an alpha primally, to need them inside, and Zelgius had complied --

And even for the fact that he hardly remembered that night, he couldn't forget.

Surely one couldn't have a heat in the midst of a pregnancy -- if for no other reason than it was a bit redundant and it didn't make biological sense.

But when he woke up he imagined that had to be what it was; the covers clung to him as if his sweat was glue, his hair had come loose and hung off his head in a tangled mess -- beneath the sheets he was hard and damn near completion. Soren crossed his legs up to hide his shame; almost as if the paintings on the walls were watching him, though he knew he had to be alone.

Then, suddenly, he wasn't alone. With timing as perfect as he'd had the night they'd conceived, Zelgius opened the door and slipped inside, suspiciously free of his armor.

Soren could wrap his blankets around himself all he wanted, but there was no hiding his scent -- he must have tossed and turned in the night because the bed smelled heavy with it. He wrapped his hands up in the sheets and shook.

"Your highness, my apologies --"

"Come here."

"Ah, well --"

_"Now."_

"If you're tired, you should --"

"No more excuses. No more apologies." Soren pulled the sheets down, only a thin nightshirt kept his skin from the cool, dry air that was everywhere but on him -- "It is done, we are to be mated," damn that shirt, he struggled to wriggle out of it, "And if you don't start acting like it I'm going to bash something over your head."

Zelgius was on him in an instant, bare heaving chest pressed to the thick wool of a formal jacket, either arm to Soren's sides against slim hips, both pairs of lips just slightly open to breathe in the same hot air and share that warmth, that moisture before they could meet -- Zelgius inhaled and shuddered. "Are you certain this is what you want?"

Thin fingers grabbed the lapels of his suit, it was all black and sewn together with the finest golden thread money could buy and it seemed to quiver under squeezing thin nails when the prince practically sneered his discontent, "Get inside me."

Zelgius dipped his head trying not to smile. "Yes, your highness."

There was no need to bother with the buttons, though Soren instinctively fiddled with them first -- it seemed his mate-to-be finally caught onto his urgency and reached straight for his trousers, tugged the laces and pulled his cock out.

As was his most recent habit Soren had gone to bed in his nightshirt only, and once it was gone he was open and exposed in the cold air. Zelgius bent at his waist and kissed his chest, just got his mouth around one pink nipple when he got a hand in his hair, tugged, for his trouble. "There's no time for that."

Through a smile Zelgius gave that pink nipple a bite and moved up to kiss his prince, hard. Scent and taste mingled and intertwined on each other's tongues -- Soren wondered if it was as wet the first time they'd done it, but either way it was better the second time. This way it was something he'd remember, and get to savor.

Two fingers slipped inside him with ease and Zelgius shuddered and sighed, "How did you get so wet,"

"I dreamt --"

Details might have been questioned, momentarily, but the air was becoming frantic and the prince cried out when those fingers were taken back and he was -- roughly, finally -- pushed to lie on his back.

He did. Legs wide, hair spreading in every direction around his head atop the covers, he gasped another breath of cool air and reveled in that brief moment. A hand rested on either hip that jutted out from his slim frame, a thumb rubbed the paper-white skin there, and Zelgius pressed against him. Pressed harder against the resistance, and as the prince's body gave way and allowed him in Zelgius hissed a curse under his breath.

It was far, _far_ too big. Soren screwed his eyes shut to resist the urge to look, as if that would somehow make it make more sense. Too big. It simply hung there for a moment, Zelgius reining in every screaming instinct in his head to generously give him time to adjust. The frantic desperation paused.

"Does it hurt?"

"Not -- quite," That regret, that hesitation in his knight's face was creeping back in. Zelgius' thumbs stayed where they were on his hips but he pulled his own hips back, back to get out, to run away again -- "No, don't stop --"

Before Soren could finish he'd slammed himself back in.

Soren made an ineloquent noise he prayed in the moments after nobody else heard. So _that's_ why this was so popular. His body shook outside of his control. _"Do that again."_

And he did. Slammed in again, and again, and it was more than what he remembered in his dreams, it hurt only a little and it was perfect and when Zelgius pressed their lips together gently that was it. With nothing but the suit jacket's wool touching his cock Soren came and messed it, wrapped both legs around Zelgius' waist and crossed his ankles there -- they seemed to fit perfectly.

It wasn't destined to be a marathon session. Zelgius' control was draining away and he let his forehead hit the pillows as he moved again, again, found out with every thrust just how deep inside he could get and how greedily Soren's body swallowed him up and asked for more.

Soren made another noise, a shaky gasp as he hit that depth inside him, and Zelgius closed his eyes, found his teeth digging into a bony shoulder, his tongue tasting blood before his brain could catch up.

The prince thought it would hurt more -- maybe it did at first, the bite down, but Zelgius didn't miss a beat in his rhythm of thrusts and so Soren didn't miss a beat in his encouraging cries back. It was only when Zelgius pressed inside him and held it there for a moment, groaned into his skin and then released it that the prince realized.

They'd created a haze together in the room, a miasma only they were affected by, and Zelgius collapsed on his side with a huff. Somewhere in the distance of his mind Soren felt like he was blinking the sleep out of his eyes, that clarity was only coming in lazy spurts.

Something warm was dripping out of him. When he hefted himself onto his own side to mirror his knight (there was a strange shifting inside him and more warmth oozed out, eugh, would he ever get used to that?) he saw the smallest smear of blood on his lip.

"You marked me," Soren said breathlessly.

Zelgius looked at him. At his shoulder. Swallowed. "... Yes."

So it was over, then. Soren inhaled what felt like his first breath of something resembling air and not hot steam since he'd woken up, wriggled to scoot closer and press his forehead against Zelgius' chest. The thought hit him in a cold moment of clarity -- he touched his hand to his belly, felt all of the nothing there.

"Am I in heat?"

Zelgius inhaled thoughtfully, then shook his head. "No. Only lustful, I suppose. Your condition can do that to you."

Soren snorted. "How do you know that?"

"I have had the unfortunate privilege of overhearing the kitchen servants and their gossip from where I eat my lunch. One of them is pregnant and won't stop talking about it."

"You mean you eavesdropped."

Zelgius looked scandalized. "I'd never eavesdrop. It's impossible not to hear!"

Quietly, Soren snuggled into him again, inhaled the cologne he'd dabbed onto the jacket and smiled. "Why are you dressed like this anyway? Is there some ceremony you're attending today?"

A beat. Two. Zelgius sat up so quickly he nearly flung himself off the grand bed. "There's a banquet today in honor of our engagement. I was sent to come get you."

Soren barely had a moment to consider this before they both heard footsteps coming from the long hall, and each scrambled to find their trousers.


End file.
